I miss you.

I miss you because you’re gone. All of you. Each in different ways, some tragic, some we just don’t talk about anymore. I miss you most when I forget you’re gone and have to relearn life without your existence. I miss you when I look at my family or find you in pictures. And I’m not religious, but I hope wherever you are you know that I miss you.

And I miss you in a way no one understands. I wouldn’t even try to begin and explain it to anyone. It’s not romantic. You’re not dead. But I miss you like I miss caffeine when I get addicted and try to quit it. I know why my head hurts and if I just give in and drink a little the pain will be over. But I’ll end up trying to kick the habit again. That is how I miss you, in an unhealthy way. In a, you made my life better for so long that you began to make it worse kind of way. You were my crutch. But I miss you. I do not know if you miss me too.

And I miss you because you’ll never be who you were again. The former you is gone. I miss the you that is never coming back. I miss the way you used to look at me. I miss the way you spoke to me. I miss the way you taught me things without realizing it. I miss you when you won’t look at me. I miss you when you won’t talk to me. I miss you when you talk to people who aren’t really there.

When you’re not here I miss you. I miss you the second you leave until you come back again. It’s comfortable missing you because I know you will come back. I don’t mind missing you most of the time because I know you miss me too. But I miss you most when we fight. When you’re right in front of me and that wall drops down and we’re no longer existing together but in spite of each other. But that rarely happens. And it makes returning to the missing of you that much more palpable and sweet.

I miss you.

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There’s an understood eeriness about this place. The cramped crick of teeth clenched drowns out the wind. Insects the size of pets clobber the windshield. Signs point directly at you pleading, stop, turn around, you’re going the wrong way.

There’s an understood eeriness about this place. The cramped crick of teeth clenched drowns out the wind. Insects the size of pets clobber the windshield. Signs point directly at you pleading, stop, turn around, you’re going the wrong way.

“Maybe what I see and experience is all there is to human existence, a harsh slap to the face that tells me to give up and accept the mundane. A growing feeling that it is better to give up on dreams because they are unrealistic paths to happiness.”

“Maybe what I see and experience is all there is to human existence, a harsh slap to the face that tells me to give up and accept the mundane. A growing feeling that it is better to give up on dreams because they are unrealistic paths to happiness.”

“I wonder sometimes if she still has that rose… I hope that she doesn’t still carry it. I hope that it’s been thrown away. I hope that it’s been carried out to the trash, and I hope that whatever compost it finds itself in that it will make new roses there.”

“I wonder sometimes if she still has that rose… I hope that she doesn’t still carry it. I hope that it’s been thrown away. I hope that it’s been carried out to the trash, and I hope that whatever compost it finds itself in that it will make new roses there.”

There’s a titter tatter hokey pokey rumbling the bones of this old saloon. The thunder rolls thick through the wood and settles here under the foundation. The board and batten shutters swing off of hinges, plywood walls splinter and shave

There’s a titter tatter hokey pokey rumbling the bones of this old saloon. The thunder rolls thick through the wood and settles here under the foundation. The board and batten shutters swing off of hinges, plywood walls splinter and shave